


Rebraiding the Strands of Time

by Moit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, De-Aged Derek, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 12:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2348774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When the smoke cleared, the pack was staring at their Alpha—a five-year-old version of him.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Or</p><p>Set somewhere within season 2: When a witch curses Derek and he reverts to his five-year-old self in body and mind, Stiles is left to care for him. The Sheriff is not amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebraiding the Strands of Time

**Author's Note:**

> As always, the moment I announce a hiatus, I am attacked by a positively rabid plot bunny. This fic demanded to be written. 
> 
> Like the summary says, this fic is set somewhere between seasons 1 and 2 because that seems to be my happy place. There is no mention or implication of anything later than S2. This fic was actually inspired by [this photograph](http://www.amazon.com/Picky-Poster-16-20/dp/B0072NMXV2), which hangs in my bathroom--a gift from Lockea.

When the smoke cleared, the pack was staring at their Alpha—a five-year-old version of him. He looked around at the group of teenagers, grey eyes widening in surprise.

 

Isaac was the first one to start forward, but Derek burst into tears, halting the beta in his tracks.

 

“I want my mommy!”

 

The rest of the group looked at one another with similar expressions of confusion. They were all wondering the same thing: What do we do now?

 

Lydia, ever the thinker, took charge of the situation. “He doesn’t remember any of us, so we need to figure out how to convince him to _come with us_ so we can get him some help. Maybe one of you can like . . . flash your eyes at him or something to show that you’re pack.”

 

“But we’re _not_ his pack,” Stiles said. “They’re all . . . ” He dragged his thumb over his throat to avoid saying the word _dead_.

 

“Isaac, maybe you could just try talking to him?” Allison suggested. “You are his first beta. He may not remember it, but there could be some sort of connection there.”

 

“Somebody just do something!” Erica shouted, covering her ears. “I can’t take his screaming much longer!”

 

Giving the others a last look that conveyed his discomfort, Isaac approached Derek. The child’s loud cries had subsided into sniffling and hitching breaths as he wore himself out. “Hey, Derek,” Isaac said, crouching down in front of him. “My name is Isaac. Do you remember me?”

 

Derek’s little eyebrows knitted into a look with which they were very familiar. “No.”

 

“I don’t . . . smell familiar?” Isaac was grasping at straws, but they had no other options.

 

Derek shook his head.

 

“O-kaay.” Standing up and dusting off his jeans, Isaac joined his friends. “Well, that was useful. Scott, maybe you could try.”

 

“Yeah, no,” Lydia said. “What are we going to do if Derek says no to all of us? Then what? Are we going to just snatch him up and drag him back to Deaton’s?” She cast a look around the group. “Stiles, what about you? He’s _your_ secret boyfriend.”

 

Stiles was so stunned, he could only gape at her.

 

“Don’t act like we don’t know. These four—” she gestured at the wolves “—knew the second it happened. You reek of one another. It was also pretty obvious with the way you look at him. It’s like a Lifetime Original every time you’re in the same room together.”

Speechless, Stiles looked to Allison for help, but she only gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Stiles. We’ve known for a while.”

 

“I swear to God he’s going to kill all of us when he gets . . . back.”

 

Stiles trudged forward towards his—Derek. His two-decades-too-young Derek. He liked children, just not as a curse cast upon his sort-of-not-quite-boyfriend.

 

“Hey, Buddy.” Stiles didn’t kneel down like Isaac; instead, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans.

 

Derek sniffled, looking up at the teen. His eyes were red, and there were still tears leaking down his splotchy cheeks. It made Stiles want to pick the child up and hug him until he stopped crying. Regardless of what had happened, Stiles still loved Derek. He had to think quickly.

 

“Are you scared?”

 

Derek nodded, and his eyes welled up with tears again.

 

“No, no, no, don’t cry!” Stiles tore his hands out of his pockets and held them out like he could physically stop Derek from crying.

 

The gesture must have worked, anyway, because all at once Derek’s gaze was fixed on him with intense interest.

 

“What is it?” Stiles asked, more to himself than Derek. He glanced down at his hands, and realized what had the child   so enthralled: the braided leather band around his left wrist. It had been given to him by Derek himself. “My bracelet?”

 

“That’s Laura’s.”

 

Stiles’ eyes widened, and he heard the pack shuffling and mumbling behind him. Derek hadn’t shared that little nugget of information with him before.

 

“Laura gave this to me,” Stiles said, slipping the lie out easily. He felt like a pedophile when he said it because his intention, but it was his only real chance to gain Derek’s trust.

 

The child’s expression tightened, and Stiles could practically see him thinking. “Where’s my mommy?” he asked. He wasn’t yet old enough to have self-awareness; his mother was his world. Stiles knew the feeling.

 

“I’m going to take you to her,” he said, forcing a smile on his face. It took every bit of his willpower to force that lie out. He had to manipulate this Derek to save the one he knew and loved. Holding out his hand, he beckoned to the child. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll even let you wear Laura’s bracelet.” Stiles’ chest clenched as he untied the leather band; he hadn’t taken it off since Derek had given it to him.

 

Though he still looked uncertain, Derek allowed Stiles to tie the bracelet around his wrist. That seemed to settle him, because a moment later, he took Stiles’ hand.

 

Turning to face the rest of the pack, Stiles gave them a tight smile. “I guess we should head home.”

 

*

 

The Jeep didn’t have airbags or hazard lights, let alone a child’s car seat. Stiles didn’t even have seatbelts in the back, so he had to put Derek up front with him. He just sent a prayer up to whatever lycan deity werewolves prayed to that _if_ something happened on the car ride back to his house, Derek’s superior healing would suffice in lieu of absent automatic safety measures.

 

Derek was silent during the entire ride. Stiles offered to let him pick a station on the radio—he didn’t have any tapes for the Jeep’s worn out tape deck—but Derek just shook his head and continued to stare out the window. Stiles didn’t need super hearing or a sixth sense to know that the little boy was scared and confused. He just hoped they could get him back to normal soon.

 

The porch light was on when Stiles pulled into the driveway next to his dad’s cruiser. He was going to catch Hell for this, but right now, there wasn’t anything he could do. His first concern was his pint-sized charge.

 

Stiles helped Derek out of the Jeep—it was too high for his little legs—and walked him to the front door. “This is my house,” he said, flipping through his keys. Every minute he spent with Derek like this made him feel more like some creepy guy stealing a child off the street, and he had to remind himself that this was his boyfriend, cursed or not.

 

His dad was half asleep in the recliner when Stiles came in, but he sat up when he heard the front door open.

 

“Heeeeey, Daddy-o. We had a bit of a situation tonight—”

 

“Did you kidnap a child?” The instant anger in the Sheriff’s voice was thick enough to clog the air between them with emotion.

 

“Dad,” Stiles said slowly, “This is Derek.”

 

One of the Sheriff’s eyebrows raised in confusion. “Derek . . . Hale?” He said the name as he considered the child in front of him; there was no mistaking that this was, indeed, a miniature version of the Beacon Hills alpha.

 

“Derek is going to stay here with us tonight, and in the morning, I’m going to take him to _see his mom_.” Stiles accentuated his words with a pointed look. His father could ground him for life once this whole thing was over. In fact, it would probably be safer for Stiles if his father did just that. But for now, they had to deal with Derek as he was.

 

The Sheriff sighed and reached for the remote to the television so he could turn it off. “I’m going to bed,” he said, dragging himself out of the recliner. “When I wake up, I’m going to hope this was all just a dream.” He ambled out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Stiles and Derek alone in the entryway.

 

“Well, I’m sure it is way past your bedtime,” Stiles said. “Do you need something to eat?”

 

Derek shook his head.

 

“Are you thirsty?”

 

Another head shake.

 

“Okay, come on, then. I’m tired. You’ve got to be tired. Let’s go to bed.”

 

He led Derek upstairs and fished out an old t-shirt for him to sleep in. Somehow, the henley and jeans he had been wearing shrank with his body, so at least Derek had something to wear until they went shopping in the morning.

 

Stiles settled the child—it was so weird to think of his boyfriend as a child—into the guest bedroom. He even stole the nightlight out of the hallway so Derek wouldn’t have to sleep in a _dark_ unfamiliar room.

 

“Do you have everything you need, Buddy?”

 

Derek looked tiny in the queen-sized bed as he nodded his assent.

 

“Okay,” Stiles said, flipping off the light. The small one he’d plugged into the wall cast a golden glow about the room. “Have a good night, Derek. Sleep well.”

 

He pulled the guestroom door shut and headed to his own room. Normally, when things went wrong, Stiles had Derek to rely on. What was he supposed to do now that Derek was the problem?

 

With a sigh, Stiles shucked his jeans and collapsed face-first onto his bed. He was asleep within minutes.

 

He awoke in the night to find Derek standing beside his bed. “Jesus!” he exclaimed, scrambling backwards. “You’re like one of those children from _Village of the Damned_.”

 

Derek’s bottom lip trembled. “I had a bad dream.”

 

Sighing, Stiles threw back his blankets so Derek could scramble into the bed with him. The child didn’t settle down until Stiles threw an arm over him.

 

“Derek,” he groaned, “just go to sleep.”

 

*

 

The next day, Stiles woke slowly. He’s never been fond of morning, and since it was summer vacation, he didn’t have anything to do.

 

Stretching his limbs out, he contemplated his options: video games with Scott or sex with Derek.

 

 

Stiles’ eyes flew open and he sat up like a shot. He scanned the room, but Derek was nowhere in sight. The window was closed, but Stiles wouldn’t put it past his boyfriend to sneak out in the night.

 

Throwing the blankets off his body, Stiles struggled to stand and pull some jeans on so fast he tripped twice and nearly busted his chin on the dresser. He managed to make it downstairs with all his parts intact and unharmed, only to find his dad sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper while Derek the child munched away on blueberry pancakes.

 

“Glad you could join us,” his dad said, glancing over the edge of his paper.

 

Stiles struggled to control the look of surprise on his face. “Pancakes. For Derek.” Before this, his dad had been hardly willing to talk to Derek without first reading him his Miranda rights.

 

“He’s our guest.” The Sheriff looked over at their charge. “Besides, we’re having fun, right Derek?”

 

“Uh huh,” he said, smiling for the first time since the incident.

 

Shaking his head, Stiles poured himself a cup of coffee. What had his life become?

 

*

 

The Sheriff gave Stiles one final directive before he left for work: “I realize that’s Derek Hale in there, but please don’t give me a reason to arrest my own son today.”

 

“Got it.” Stiles smothered his smile when he realized his dad’s severe expression was not wavering. “We’re gonna go talk to Deaton later. Hopefully, he’ll be back to normal by the end of the day.”

 

“For your sake, I hope so.”

 

Stiles watched from the window as his dad’s cruiser pulled out of the driveway and rolled down the street. With a sigh, he turned away and walked back into the kitchen.

 

Derek was still sitting at the table, a half-eaten plate of pancakes in front of him as he doodled across the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.

 

“Are you done?”

 

Derek nodded. Even for a child, he didn’t say much.

 

Stiles managed to get the two of them ready (Derek in his clothes from the day before, since they didn’t have anything that would fit him) in less than an hour. He texted Scott on the way to the vet.

 

By the time they walked through the door, however, the entire pack was waiting in Deaton’s lobby.

 

“This is a surprise,” Stiles said, looking around the group. “I thought I just texted Scott.”

 

“You don’t have a monopoly on Derek,” Erica said, flashing gold eyes at him.

 

Scott instinctively sidled up to Stiles; Isaac and Boyd did the same with Erica. They were not a single pack, no matter how hard they tried to be.

 

“May I please ask why you have all decided to show up and posture in my clinic on a Tuesday morning?” Deaton’s appearance dispelled the tension in the room instantly.

 

“It’s Derek,” Stiles said, nudging the child forward.

 

“I can see that.”

 

With wide eyes, Derek looked up at Deaton. “You know my mom.”

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

Stiles and Scott exchanged twin looks of surprise. There seemed to be no end to Derek’s secrets.

 

“I wanna go home,” the little boy said, and his eyes began to fill with tears. Stiles would take growly Derek over crying Derek any day.

 

“Scott,” Deaton said, beckoning the werewolf forward. “Could you take my friend Derek here back to see the puppies, please?”

 

“Sure,” Scott said, holding his hand out.

 

Derek brightened at the prospect of seeing the animals and allowed Scott to lead him out of the room.

 

“What happened?” Deaton asked when they were out of earshot.

 

“We found a witch in the woods,” Stiles said. “Boyd, Erica, and Isaac managed to kill her, but not before she did _that_ to Derek.”

 

Deaton nodded. “I see.”

 

“So?” Erica asked. “How do we get him back?”

 

“I think our only option now is to wait.”

 

“ _Wait?_ Wait.” Erica’s eyes glowed gold again as she shifted into her beta form. “My Alpha has been reduced to a five-year-old _child_ , and you want us to _wait_.”

 

“Ms. Reyes, how many times do I have to remind you that I am but a humble veterinarian. I am neither a witch, nor possessed with supernatural powers; therefore, I am incapable of reversing the spell cast on Derek. I can assure you, however, that without the witch, the power of her spell will fade in time. If she is truly destroyed, Derek will return.”

 

“I guess you’re gonna need these,” Boyd said, as he pulled out a plastic carrier bag from behind his back with a look of consternation. “My cousin is around Derek’s current age. These might be a little big, but at least they should fit.”

 

Inside the bag were several child-sized articles of clothing. Stiles’ heart swelled at the thought of Derek’s betas taking care of him. “Thanks. Hopefully, he won’t need them for very long.”

 

*

 

After leaving the clinic, Stiles and Derek returned to his house. Scott tagged along in the hopes that they could entertain their child Alpha.

 

“I don’t know what to do with him,” Stiles whispered, glancing over at Derek like the werewolf couldn’t hear his words.

 

“We could play video games,” Scott said. “Everyone likes video games, right?”

 

Stiles made a face. “I don’t know that my games are exactly ‘kid friendly.’ Are we going to, like, permanently screw him up for when he gets back, or something?”

 

“I can hear you,” Derek said, and his voice held the indignation only a child can produce.

 

“We could play Mario Kart, I guess.”

 

Neither Derek nor Scott gave an indication of their preference one way or the other, so Stiles dug his old Nintendo 64 out of the closet and set it up. If nothing else, it was a three-player game.

 

Although they’d never played video games together before, Derek took to Mario Kart like a duck to water. Pretty soon he was driving circles around Stiles and Scott.

 

“Is this some inherent born-wolf power?” Stiles asked. “Freaky-good video game skills? This must be why he never plays with me.”

 

Scott sighed and set his controller down as Bowser spun off a cliff again. “I should probably get home.” They’d been playing for nearly four hours straight.

 

Stiles gave his best friend a look of panic.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Scott said, patting him on the shoulder. “Just remember that it’s Derek. He’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

 

As soon as they heard the front door shut signaling Scott’s departure, Derek put his controller down. “I’m hungry.”

 

Peach slammed into a wall as the other characters passed her up, and Stiles tossed his controller to the carpet, too. He wasn’t going to win, anyway. “Of course you are. Let’s go downstairs and see what we can rustle up. I hate to tell you that I’m not much of a cook, but hopefully you’re not too harsh a critic.”

 

Derek gave Stiles an ambiguous one-shouldered shrug and followed him downstairs.

 

“Let’s see what we have,” Stiles murmured, opening cabinets. He and his dad ate like bachelors, so at least there was plenty of kid-friendly food. “Do you like hamburger helper?”

 

Derek shook his head.

 

“Probably don’t know what that means.” Stiles pulled a can from the shelf. “Tuna? A tuna sandwich?”

 

“I don’t like fish.”

 

Stiles made a noise of frustration. He gritted his teeth and stopped himself from saying, _You will when you’re older_. Pushing aside the food in the front, he spied a box in the back and reached for it. “Macaroni and cheese,” he said, setting the box on the counter. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it. Every kid likes macaroni and cheese.”

 

“Do you have ketchup?” Derek asked.

 

“Ketchup?”

 

“My mom always makes it with ketchup.”

 

“Right.” Stiles was learning so much about his boyfriend. “Yes, Derek, if that’s how you want it, you can have ketchup in your macaroni and cheese.”

 

Stiles set up a pot to boil water. Derek insisted on helping, so Stiles grabbed the stepstool from the closet so Derek could wash his hands in the sink. Together, they poured macaroni into the pot and stirred it. When the noodles stuck to the wall, Stiles portioned the macaroni into two bowls, snagged the ketchup out of the fridge, and sat down at the table with Derek.

 

Stiles watched with trepidation as Derek squirted nearly half the bottle of ketchup into his bowl. That must really have been how his mother made it, though, because he dove in with gusto. Stiles ate his own macaroni at a more sedate pace. For him, the novelty had worn off somewhere around age 10.

 

After their bowls were cleared away, they returned to Stiles’ room for more video games. He didn’t know what else to do with Derek, and since he’d be gaming, anyway, it was like killing two birds with one stone.

 

The sheriff returned home that evening. Stiles was pleased to see his father because he could only play Rainbow Road so many times before his vision started to blur.

 

“How’s Derek?” his dad asked as Stiles came jogging down the stairs.

 

“The same,” Stiles replied, gesturing to the child making his way much slower towards them.

 

The sheriff shook his head. “When this is all over, you and I are going to have a long talk. What do you boys want for dinner?”

 

“Pizza!” Derek announced, throwing his hands in the air.

 

Both Stilinskis turned to the little boy, who looked positively gleeful.

 

“Pizza it is, then,” the sheriff said with an expression that brooked no argument from Stiles about cholesterol or blood pressure.

 

They ordered two large pepperoni pies. Apparently, they all had the same preference; Stiles had never seen Derek eat a slice of pizza.

 

*

 

When bedtime rolled around, Stiles drew Derek a bath. He only left the room when Derek insisted he was “old enough to take a bath alone,” but Stiles kept the door open _just in case_. He could never live with himself if he let something happen to his boyfriend in such a vulnerable state.

 

After Derek finished, Stiles helped him dress in a pair of pajamas they found in the bag from Boyd.

 

“These smell funny,” Derek said, wrinkling his little nose.

 

“That’s because they came from someone in another pack,” Stiles said. “Will you be okay if I shut out the light? Do you want me to read you a story, or something?”

 

“I’m okay,” Derek said, though the look on his face said otherwise.

 

With a tight-lipped smile, Stiles shut out the light and closed the door. He walked back downstairs where his father was watching some sit-com on television.

 

“Is he asleep?” the Sheriff asked.

 

“He’s getting there, I guess,” Stiles replied, sinking down on the couch.

 

“You’re good with him.”

 

Surprised, Stiles looked over at his father. “What do you mean? It’s just Derek.”

 

The elder Stilinski turned away from the television. “It’s not just Derek. Right now, he’s a little boy without a family. He needs support, and he needs you. You’re doing right by that kid, Stiles, and I’m proud of you.”

 

Stiles’ chest filled with pride. He hadn’t looked at it like that.

 

As the episode on television ended and a new one began in its place, Stiles stood up and stretched. “I’m going to bed.”

 

“Already?” His dad looked at his watch. “It’s only 9:30. Are you sick, or something?”

 

“Just tired.”

 

“Parenting will do that to you.”

 

Stiles made a face. “Deaton said he should be back to normal within a week.”

 

The Sheriff made a noise of acknowledgement.

 

Shaking his head, Stiles walked out of the room and headed up the stairs to bed.

 

*

 

Stiles must have been used to Derek’s presence in his bed because when he woke up the next morning, the child was snuggled up against his side, fast asleep.

 

The following night, Stiles didn’t ever bother putting Derek to bed in the guestroom. He put the child in his own bed, and every morning when he woke up, Derek was wound around him like an octopus. Usually, Stiles was the nighttime cuddler, so it was nice to have Derek seeking him out for once, even if it was 5-year-old Derek.

 

During their time together, they got to know each other in a different way than before. Stiles learned that Derek had an intense fear of being alone, and he got to share with Derek mundane life in the Stilinski household.

 

Derek and the sheriff bonded tremendously, which Stiles had not expected. Before this, they had hardly tolerated each other. Now, Stiles’ dad was treating Derek like the grandson he didn’t have. He would bring home little treats like ice cream bars and chocolate chip cookies. In the evenings, he would let Derek watch what he wanted on television, never mind the fact that he had control over the remote all day.

While Stiles had grown used to having Derek like this, it didn’t stop him from missing the old one—his boyfriend.

 

Ten days after the incident, Stiles woke to find his bed empty. He could hear water running in the bathroom, so he knew Derek hadn’t gone far. Sometimes his father made breakfast, so this was not an unusual happening.

 

In the hopes that he could get a few more minutes of sleep before Derek demanded his attention, Stiles curled his arms around his pillow and closed his eyes. He heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and feet padding across the carpet.

 

What he didn’t expect was to feel a pair of strong arms wrap around his body. Stiles’ eyes flew open as Derek— _his Derek_ —pressed a kiss to his lips.

 

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

 

Stiles rolled onto his back and pulled Derek down for another kiss, drowning himself in the werewolf’s mouth, pulling away only when he had to gasp for air. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

 

“I’ve been right here the whole time,” Derek said, nuzzling into the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder. “You took such good care of me. You and your dad both.”

 

“I was worried I’d be stuck raising you. I’m far too young to be a teen mom.”

 

“And I’m far to old to be stuck in the body and mind of a prepubescent,” Derek agreed, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ neck.

 

“Hey, Stiles?” his dad called. “I’m headed to work.”

 

The bedroom door opened and Stiles flailed out of bed so fast he _did_ crack his chin this time.

 

“I’m going to head to—Derek. You’re back. In my son’s bed. Half-naked.”

 

“Dad,” Stiles said, standing up and holding out a hand in supplication. At least he was dressed. “I can explain.”

 

The sheriff cut him off with a wave. “What did I tell you? Long talk. You’re 18 in two months, Stiles. Please, just try to stay out of trouble until then, okay? Derek?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Derek said, shifting nervously as he tried his best to hide the fact that he was naked under the blankets.

 

“I want to see you more often, especially if you two are going to—have been—whatever. I expect to see you here for dinner on Friday night. Now, I’m going to work. Try not to run into any more witches or curses or boggarts or whatever.”

 

“Boggarts, Dad?”

 

“I’m going to work.” He shut the door with more force than necessary.

 

Chuckling, Stiles pulled Derek back against him.

 

“Your dad’s a good person,” Derek said.

 

“He’s the best.”

 

Derek hummed in response. “I should probably give this back to you,” he said, running his fingers over the bracelet on his wrist. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it belonged to Laura.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Stiles replied, as he watched Derek untie the leather strip and wrap it around his own wrist. “I don’t need to know everything. Like how much ketchup you put on your macaroni and cheese.”

 

“I don’t eat macaroni and cheese, anymore,” Derek murmured, shifting Stiles’ body so they could spoon. “Or pizza, for that matter.”

 

“How about video games?”

 

“I could be open to that.”

 

“Derek, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”

 

“We passed the beginning a long time ago, Stiles.”

  
And so they had.

 

 Fin

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still on Tumblr, but not currently accepting prompts. Sorry, fellas.


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